Unguarded
by trufflemores
Summary: 3x11. Michael reaction fic. "There was a fraction of a second where they stood utterly still, and then Blaine lunged, planting a hand on Kurt's ribs and pushing him back just as the slushy smashed into his face." Kurt/Blaine.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Do you really think this is going to work?"

Blaine's voice was skeptical, but Santana's expression remained neutral as she looked at him, eyeing him from head to toe before dismissing him without a word. "We're not backing out now," she said simply, advancing into the parking garage and wordlessly beckoning him to follow.

"No, I know," he assured, hurrying to keep up with her as she descended, winding around one of the curves that led to a deeper level. "I just think - " He stilled when he heard Sebastian's voice, cool and undaunted, coming from somewhere overhead. He couldn't make out the words, but he could easily distinguish the press of a dozen footsteps, obviously close on his heels as laughter resonated from above. It made his stomach twist to think that he was acting _against _the Warblers. The Warblers were his friends. There had to be a better way to resolve this, even with Sebastian's remarks ringing in his ears.

_Oh, hey, Kurt. I didn't recognize you. You were wearing boy clothes today._

Blaine's shoulders tensed at the memory, at how Kurt's face had fallen before settling into a derisive sneer. He hated that Sebastian could change Kurt's mood so easily. Worse, he was frustrated with himself that he hadn't done anything about it. It had been easy to tell Sandy Ryerson off when he had criticized the New Directions' _Night of Neglect _concert, Karofsky's insults had never intimidated him, and even Santana's jibes at his relationship with Kurt hadn't put him off in the slightest. Why he had fallen silent and stupid in front of Sebastian, he didn't know, but he could tell by Kurt's cold silence afterward that he wasn't happy and it was Blaine's fault.

So, even more than reclaiming their honor (as Puck put it), the sing-off was about showing Kurt whose side he was on. It didn't hurt that championing that particular cause also meant that he was supporting the New Directions. Once a Warbler, always a Warbler, he thought ruefully, almost walking into Santana's back as she came to an abrupt halt.

The New Directions had been following at a discreet distance, and Blaine was suddenly grateful that, even in the silence and darkness, he wasn't alone. More importantly, he wasn't standing against them, he was standing _with _the New Directions. He still _liked _the Warblers, and allying against them was off-putting; he wanted to catch up to them and join in on their jokes, their plans, their set lists. It ached in him, memories of lounging about in one of the common rooms so raw that he almost conceded and turned in his leather jacket then. Leather was cool and unyielding, but his blazer would be warm once he put it on, comfortable enough to lie around in but still solid enough to make him feel important. Useful.

Still. He had made his choice. And Sebastian was part of the Warblers now - _Captain _of the Warblers, to hear him tell it, even if Blaine doubted the Warblers would ever let themselves fall so far from their equanimity under the council's guidance to allow one person to take over - which made it inherently wrong for him to support them. Not until they conceded and gave the New Directions what was theirs. _Michael _was theirs, and Blaine knew enough about the New Directions' history to know that they really wouldn't give up without a fight.

So, better to sing it out and admit to it than let the hurt and betrayal fester. Blaine didn't want them to be at odds: he just wanted to make Kurt happy, and the New Directions happy, and, if he could swing it, the Warblers happy, too.

_Focus_.

He noticed that Santana had drifted back towards one of the pillars while he surveyed the parking lot, waiting for the Warblers to appear, and he mirrored her, leaning back against the same concrete and listening to the footsteps descending. They were silent now, anticipation heavy in the air. Blaine could hear his own breaths amid the silence, soft, barely there, curious and worried at once.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for them to appear, and he was grateful that Santana took the lead, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him along to indicate that the time had come. _Now or never, _he thought, tossing his hood over his head and steeling himself as the Warblers squared off with them.

"Well. We're here," Sebastian announced, deadpan. Blaine folded his arms across his chest so he wouldn't break character; all he wanted to do was greet the Warblers properly and introduce them to the New Directions. But that wasn't what they were here for. _Once a Warbler, always a Warbler._

"We got something to settle," Blaine said, matching Sebastian's tone. "Both of us want to use M.J. but only one can."

Almost before he was finished, Santana cut in with a biting, "We're having a Jackson-off, Nick at Nite. Winner gets the King of Pop for regionals."

"What, us against . . . the two of you? You really think you're that bad? Is that what they teach you at that little public school of yours?"

Sebastian's voice was heavy with contempt, his lips wide in a smile that never touched his eyes. Santana didn't even flinch, and Blaine felt comforted by the awareness that the rest of the New Directions were just around the corner, waiting. It was just a game. A little intimidation was necessary, to prove both their seriousness as well as their investment in the outcome. It was just a game to see who got to perform Michael Jackson at regionals. That was all.

"It's time to see who's bad," Blaine retorted quietly, narrowing his eyes.

As if on cue, Santana snapped her fingers, summoning the rest of the New Directions from the shadows. Blaine noticed Sebastian's eyebrows twitch upward: out of vexation or surprise, he couldn't tell. Either way, he let a small, triumphant smile curl his lips as they emerged, surrounding Santana and him as if they'd never been anywhere but.

There was silence for a moment, and in it, he knew half a beat before the Warblers began exactly what was going to happen. Bracing himself for it, he met Sebastian's taunting gaze and waited, surprised when Artie jumped in on the lead. Relieved to have their attention directed elsewhere, Blaine fell back into the folds of the New Directions, doing his best to keep up with the movement if not the exact choreography.

It felt natural to push Artie along when they moved to another section of the garage, joining him in harmony to add strength to their vocals. Letting himself get lost in the performance, he put his hand on one of the Warbler's shoulders before wheeling away, not even sure where he was going but grateful that Tina stood behind Artie as Sebastian advanced, looking menacing before another Warbler tugged his arm and pulled him away. He didn't have time to think about that - how serious the Warblers looked versus how relaxed, almost comical the New Directions seemed by comparison - before instinct kicked in and he _sang._

He wasn't even fully aware of his purpose, then, outside the song, following the New Directions' lead as he rose to meet the chorus, putting every ounce of determination that he had in him as he hit it.

It felt good, exhilarating, liberating all in one, to finally sing _with _the New Directions, _with _the Warblers, instead of belting out a solo alone on a stage.

He couldn't deny the relief that surged through him when Santana took over for the chorus: she _killed _it. Blaine knew before the song was halfway over that the New Directions would win. There was no way that the Warblers, with an all-male vocalist range, could keep up with the diversity and creativity that the New Directions had.

So he relaxed, too, bopping around and even smiling when Kurt did a little jig as he scurried after Puck, keeping the chain unbroken.

That was until he saw the Warblers' faces, tense and alert, neither smiling nor frowning but clearly not as engaged. Or, rather, _more _engaged, as if every step, every gesture needed to be perfect. They weren't like that - the Warblers were always fairly easygoing, and Blaine knew that if it wasn't for the song choice they would be grinning and teasing the New Directions already, boyish and cocky. It would take a few numbers before they would concede - because they would, Blaine knew them - but it wasn't like this was the end-all, be-all. It was just one song, the first song at that, and the Warblers had never been anything but good sports.

So it disconcerted him to see them so grave, utterly unaffected by the jaunty, almost teasing attitude that the New Directions were displaying underneath their falsely angry demeanor. Or maybe they were picking up on outward appearances too well and mimicking them. It wasn't the first time the Warblers had seen the New Directions perform, but this wasn't a show choir competition; maybe it would just take a little more time for them to warm up to the idea before their inevitable surrender.

Accepting that, Blaine fell in neatly after Artie with his riffs, handing the mantle over to Santana for the higher notes and focusing on keeping up with the rest of the group instead. It was easy, and he saw some of the Warblers relax into their roles a little, mock-fighting with the New Directions as they spun and sang and worked their way toward the crescendo.

Santana held the lead and Blaine let her, knowing Artie would do the same, as the Warblers closed in and the New Directions formed a tight net, ready to meet them in a single unbroken line. Blaine saw a flash of movement, out of place and alarming, as one of the Warblers ducked aside, removing himself from the group to grab a paper bag. Falling back as one of the Warblers lunged at him, keeping time with the movements, Blaine lost sight of the distraction until, abruptly, Sebastian stood at the front of the Warblers, slushy cup already in hand as every nerve ending in Blaine's body started screaming because _no._

Kurt's smile didn't have time to fall. He barely registered the slushy cup at all. There was a fraction of a second where they stood utterly still, and then Blaine lunged, planting a hand on Kurt's ribs and pushing him back just as the slushy smashed into his face.

His shoulder hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a ragged scream. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his thoughts running in circles because his face his face his face his _eyes _his eyes oh God his eyes.

Everything burned. His hands felt raw as he scrubbed at his own skin, desperate to get every last trace of slushy off his face, out of his _eyes, _and vaguely he was aware of Kurt crouched at his side, his fingers shaking as he clutched at Blaine's hip and shoulder.

"Honey? What's wrong?"

Blaine let out a noise that might have been a sob as he clutched at his face, trying not to breathe, not to blink, not to do anything that would make the pain worse. He could hear footsteps moving away, but it came from a distance, muffled by the white noise in his ears. His hands were burning, shaking as he tried to rub slushy mix out of his eyes, and Kurt was there but he could barely feel the cool brush of fingers against the raw, searing pain in his eyes, against his cheeks his brow his forehead, _everywhere._

His eyes hurt so much that even breathing was an effort, grinding his palms against his face as though he could stop the burning, aching, _searing _pain through sheer will power. It wasn't working, his whines turning high-pitched with panic, his fingers shaking so hard he was almost afraid he would gouge out his own eyes.

Anything. Anything to stop the stabbing pain that made his body curl in tighter on itself and his breath come short, that made rational thinking impossible as he clutched blindly at his own face.

He couldn't help but let out a terrified scream when someone tried to pull his hands away from his face. The burning flared and he sobbed helplessly as he scraped at his eyelids, desperate to end the agony. He didn't know where it was coming from, why it was _there, _but he had to stop it. He had to, he had to, he had to -

"I know, honey, I know," Kurt was saying, his voice thin and high. He was rubbing at Blaine's shoulder and trying to coax him off the ground but Blaine _couldn't, _he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but try to keep from tearing himself apart. All he wanted was to make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

"Let me see," Kurt urged, and Blaine tried to tell him without words that it was too much, that he _couldn't, _but Kurt's hands were gentle and insistent and he couldn't resist them, gasping against Kurt's knee while Kurt let out a soft sound above him, a strangled cry that made everything writhing in Blaine's stomach tighten because if Kurt thought it was bad, it was bad. Very bad.

He didn't know what happened, then - who was talking, what was happening - but Kurt's hand stroked his hip and Blaine tried to focus on that, tried to keep his breathing under control so he could understand why everything hurt so much.

Two strong hands that weren't Kurt's slid underneath his arms and he let out a startled scream as they tried to pull him away from him. Every movement hurt - his shoulder ached from hitting the concrete and the cold had begun to seep through the leather jacket, making him shiver - but worse than it all was the inexorable pull away from his boyfriend, the one and only person he trusted in the world to make the pain _go away._

Kurt could protect him, Kurt would make it go away, he knew, in that inexplicable little corner of his heart that believed Kurt could protect him from anything. But Kurt was gone and he couldn't see anything, he couldn't see, and he was afraid, the voices in the background too loud and utterly indecipherable. "Blaine, Blaine, it's okay," Kurt said, _Kurt, _and Blaine all but fell into his arms, clinging to him.

His eyes were throbbing and the pain had settled into a raw burn that made him let out a startled, halting cry every time he moved. Kurt closed his arms around him tightly, holding him up, and Blaine sagged against him, pressing his hands to his eyes and trusting him to keep them safe.

There were others' hands, though, and he didn't know who they belonged to, couldn't hear their voices as he buried his face in his own hands and tried not to bleed on Kurt's jacket because it felt like he was bleeding, hot, painful tears that burned on the way down.

Kurt lead him across the pavement and the voices decreased in number if not intensity, chattering ceaselessly to one another. Blaine struggled to keep track of anything outside the pain and the ache and the slow but steady descent into panic, nerves frayed to the extreme. He felt like he was balanced on a wire, ready to tip either way, animalistic with pain or calm and collected, aware.

In the end, he hunched over Kurt's knees, huddling against his chest and pressing his cheek against it, breathing slowly, raggedly, and trying not to sob.

. o .

Blaine was whining under his breath, writhing a little in a futile attempt to get more comfortable as Santana drove.

"How much longer?" Kurt demanded, rubbing Blaine's back in slow, soothing circles. His hands were shaking, but he didn't think Blaine noticed, curled up against him and trembling violently whenever they hit a bump in the road or took a curve hard.

It had taken little persuasion for Santana to get behind the wheel of Kurt's car - _Kurt's baby, _and yet he couldn't care less if she totaled it as long as she got to them to the hospital _now _- but it still surprised Kurt that she had wanted to drive at all. Maybe she cared more about Blaine than she had let on; or maybe she just reacted in a crisis where others did not, Rachel's face pale and her knuckles white, Artie gaping and silent, Finn talking to Rachel in a low, soothing tone while casting anxious looks at him and Blaine all the while as Mike and Puck discussed plans for revenge.

Kurt had been frozen, statuesque at Blaine's side, the tiny tremors in his hands hardly noticeable as he ran them up and down Blaine's back, his hip, his shoulder, his face, trying desperately to soothe, to comfort, to know what was _wrong._

Slushies weren't supposed to hurt. Not like this. They stung and left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they weren't supposed to _hurt._

Kurt had had to swallow back the tears threatening to spill over before he was able to help at all, pulling Blaine's hands away from his face and clamping his jaw shut so he wouldn't cry out at the red, raw look around his eyes. His cheeks looked burned, and his eyes -

Kurt didn't know what was in the slushy. But he knew in that moment that he would do anything and everything to make Sebastian pay for what he had done.

As it was, Kurt slipped back into the present when Blaine shivered against him, trying to crawl into his lap even though the logistics were difficult to manage in the back seat of a Navigator. Still, Kurt didn't mind, holding him as close as he could and pressing his own cheek against Blaine's slushy-soaked hair and rocking him a little, swaying with the rhythm of his own forced calm.

_It's okay. It's okay. It's going to be just fine. Don't focus on it right now. Don't focus on anything but me. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay._

They arrived sooner than Kurt expected, Santana pulling up underneath one of the awnings so Kurt could get Blaine out of the car. Finn - awkwardly and gangly though he could be - was surprisingly helpful, tucking his hands underneath Blaine's arms once more even as Blaine let out a low moan of protest, shivering violently as he was pulled away from Kurt.

Finn got him out of the car before Blaine's knees collapsed, and even Finn's support couldn't keep him upright as Blaine shuddered and let out another strangled noise, pressing both hands to his eyes. He was pale, breath coming out in short bursts as he hunched over his own knees and whined.

"Sweetheart, you can do this," Kurt said, wrapping an arm around Blaine's back and pulling him to his feet as gently as possibly, trying to keep him moving. Blaine was strong - the strongest person he knew - and seeing him so utterly incapacitated made Kurt's throat tight as he and Finn helped Blaine into the ER.

Kurt left the registration part to Finn as he guided Blaine over to one of the chairs, depositing him in it and immediately taking the seat beside him. Blaine curled up against him with a wordless noise of pain, one hand threading through Kurt's shirt as Kurt looped an arm around his back and held him, shushing him quietly.

Santana appeared three minutes later, her mouth pinched as she took a seat beside Kurt, folding one leg carefully over the other. Kurt didn't even spare her a second glance, murmuring to Blaine that it was okay, he was okay, even as the hoarse edge to his cries made his heart ache a little more with each one. He answered Finn's questions softly as he filled out the questionnaire, trying not to disturb Blaine any more than he had to, just rubbing his back and closing his own eyes as he tried to absorb and reduce his boyfriend's distress.

Blaine's fingers were white-knuckled in his shirt and his breaths harsh and clipped by the time a nurse called out his name. Kurt knew that it hadn't been long - the ER was almost empty, only a handful of other subdued parties present - but it still felt too long as he coaxed Blaine into the wheelchair she brought over, glancing up at her with the echo of a grateful smile. Blaine's voice thinned to a whine as he pressed his hands against his eyes, hunching over his knees as his breath came out in thin, reedy sounds.

"Are you eighteen?" the nurse asked, directing the question at Kurt, and his blood ran cold.

"No, but - "

"Sorry, honey," the nurse said, apologetic but already moving the wheelchair away, and Blaine let out a soft noise of distress as he was pulled away from Kurt, one hand reaching out for him.

"I'm eighteen," Finn said slowly, and Kurt couldn't help but stare at him, a helpless mixture of emotions churning in his gut as Finn repeated, "I'm eighteen. Can I stay with him?"

"Of course," the nurse replied, as if she hadn't just denied Kurt everything, his hands already aching to hold Blaine close where no one could hurt him. "Follow me."

And then they were gone and Kurt had no choice but to retreat, staring after his stepbrother and his boyfriend as he sank into his seat beside Santana.

She was filing her nails. It seemed hopelessly, helplessly mundane, and Kurt couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him, borderline hysterical. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Santana didn't deign the question with a reply, and Kurt didn't blame her, too focused on Blaine to care.

He felt sick, not knowing, his mouth dry, his throat tight as he clasped his hands together on his lap, leg jigging up and down a little as he waited for something, anything. Restless, he got to his feet, pacing the floor for God knows how long before wrenching his phone out of his pocket and hesitating for only a heartbeat before hitting the speed dial.

He let his feet carry him away from Santana, swallowing hard as his dad picked up the phone. "Kurt? Everything okay?"

Of course it wasn't, nothing was, but he forced himself to draw in a shaky breath and reply, "I'm fine, Dad." And then, sniffing, he curled an arm around his stomach and admitted quietly, "It's Blaine, Sebastian . . . Sebastian threw a slushy at him. But there was something in it, he just - " He had to stop himself, swallowing hard. "We're at the ER."

"Lima Memorial?" Kurt nodded, knowing his dad couldn't see it, but the silence must have been enough as he said, "I'm on my way. Hang in there, buddy."

"Thank you," he said softly, hanging up before he could lose control of himself completely and walking stiff-legged back to the waiting room.

Santana had stopped filing her nails and was scrolling through her phone instead, lips pursed. "Why are you even here?" Kurt asked, neither accusing nor overtly curious.

"Because you needed someone to drive the car," Santana replied, looking up a moment later and softening a little when she caught sight of his expression, "and you shouldn't be alone with . . . this."

Kurt didn't need to ask what she was referring to: just being in the waiting room was making his stomach twist. Still, he appreciated the effort, asking huskily, "Where are the others?"

"The less panicky Berrys around, the better," Santana answered simply.

Kurt nodded, reaching up to rub at his temples, trying to soothe the ache building there. He knew that it was better to have _less _New Directions around him when he could barely keep himself together, but he almost wished for the companionship, the solidarity.

The breathless anticipation was killing him.

Pacing in a shorter line than before, he bit his lip and waited, eventually settling into his seat beside Santana and staring listlessly at his hands. Guilt stabbed him when he realized that he hadn't even contacted Blaine's parents; he leaned back in his seat, knowing that they would get the call from the hospital itself, if need be.

It made Kurt uneasy, the prospect of staying overnight, but he knew that it wasn't about him. It was about Blaine. His brave, stupid, incurably kind boyfriend who had never asked to be _slushied. _Kurt had wanted to protect him from it, had known that he was safer at Dalton than he would ever be at McKinley, but he had still been glad that Blaine had transferred. He liked being able to keep Blaine close. It made him feel safer and more protected and _loved_, but love was a two-way street, and he knew that aside from a few growing pains, the New Directions had welcomed Blaine.

Things like this weren't supposed to _happen._ Kurt tucked his head between his hands and rested his elbows on his knees, trying to keep the rage at bay as it resurfaced, anger throbbing in his temples until he could barely see the floor in front of him. He wanted to make Sebastian pay. It felt wrong to sit there, helpless and detached, while Sebastian retreated with the rest of the Warblers, sneering and unaffected. Every instinct in him had reared up defensively the second he saw Sebastian's smirk, his wordless _Let's get out of here _loud in the silence.

The worst part was that the Warblers had done nothing. They hadn't reacted at all, as if Blaine writhing on the floor in pain didn't affect them.

Kurt felt sick, and he was almost grateful when the same nurse as before came over to them, smiling as if a friendly face could cure everything. "How is he?" Kurt asked, dropping his hands to his sides, already on his feet. "Is he okay?"

"We're settling him in a room right now," the nurse replied. "If you'd like, you can come see him, but I should warn you - "

"I want to see him," Kurt cut her off.

The nurse nodded, understanding, sparing a glance at Santana. "Only two visitors are allowed in the room at a time," she said.

"I'll stay here," Santana replied, twitching a shoulder in a shrug as if they weren't in a hospital, still texting away.

Kurt followed the nurse down the hall, mind numb and mouth suddenly dry. He didn't hear any of her helpful instructions about navigation - it seemed fairly straightforward, follow the yellow arrow - or cautions about Blaine's appearances. He needed to _see _him.

It took every ounce of will power he possessed not to fling the door open as soon as the nurse paused in front of it. Heart pounding, he followed her inside, stilling as soon as he caught sight of Blaine. Finn was still there, he noticed, peripherally aware of his presence, anxious and alert as he stood in one corner. Kurt only caught a flash of gratitude across his face before he was at Blaine's side, one of Blaine's hands fumbling blindly for his own as he made a soft sound of relief, a single slurred syllable that sounded a lot like, "_Kurt._"

Kurt's eyes were blurry with tears as he squeezed his hand back tightly, gathering him into the cradle of his arms and pressing kisses to the top of his still slushy-slick hair. "I've got you," he promised, soft, almost sing-song, as Blaine reached up with his IV-tethered hand to cling to his shirt. "I've got you, it's okay."

"I can't see," Blaine rasped, his voice low and thick, heavy. The nurse had mentioned sedatives and Kurt wasn't surprised: he'd barely been able to pry Blaine's hands from his face just to _assess _the damage. He couldn't imagine what they had needed to do to get the slushy out of his eyes. _Irrigation, _Kurt thought, such a humble, innocent word out of context and sharp, painful in it.

"It's okay," he assured, holding him a little tighter and ignoring Finn as he slipped out of the room to catch up with his dad, all his attention focused on the small, trembling body in his arms. "It's just a bandage, sweetheart, it's okay."

Both eyes were covered and Kurt knew with a certain amount of dread that the bandages might not come off - the nurse said that their preliminary examination of his eyes had been _inconclusive. _They seemed optimistic, though, which Kurt clung to, trying to infuse a sense of certainty into Blaine as he held him close, ignoring the slushy still stained against his own jacket.

"You're okay," he promised softly, and it became a mantra, cradling Blaine close until he felt sleep overtake him, seated awkwardly on the side of the bed but too determined to move.

_No one_ was going to hurt him again. Not on Kurt's watch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

**Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you'll enjoy; more coming soon!**

**~5,000 words for this part, 10,000 altogether**

Kurt couldn't help but marvel at how easily Blaine oscillated between deadweight and "Kurt, _Kurt, _we should make a snowman."

"There's no snow yet, honey," Kurt reminded him for the fifth time in as many minutes, giving his hand a little squeeze as they waited for the ophthalmologist to arrive. The initial prognosis had been positive - as long as Blaine used the prescribed eye drops and kept the bandage over his eye, then he would be ready for release as soon as he'd been examined and officially cleared by the doctor - but Kurt wouldn't relax until Blaine was settled safely at home.

He hadn't wanted to leave Blaine at all, but his dad had insisted once the nurse had assured them that the sedatives were powerful enough that Blaine would likely sleep through the night. Even so, Kurt had barely slept, and he knew that it had shown by the time he had arrived for Glee club that morning. At least Carole had agreed to keep Blaine company at the hospital while Kurt was at school; Kurt wasn't sure that he could have been persuaded to leave his side, otherwise.

Glee club had been hard because everyone had wanted to know how Blaine was, and aside from Finn and Santana, no one had known that the slushy had been tampered with (although everyone had suspected it; the corneal scratch was merely confirmation). Kurt had tried to keep his distance from it, separating himself from the emotional turmoil roiling in his thoughts, but he couldn't avoid it, and by mid-morning, frustration and fear had morphed into anger.

Keeping his distance then was simple: he found an empty classroom and turned over suitable punishments in his mind. Santana had found him after a countless period of time, her expression knowing as she took a seat across from him. Kurt had known that she could help him: Santana was ruthlessly efficient when she wanted to be. All he had needed was to say the word, and part of him wanted to, the echo of Blaine screaming into his hands still stark in his mind. Another part had hesitated, though, and he had been grateful when she stepped in, assuring him that they would think of something suitable.

It should have left him feeling satisfied. Instead he had felt dread creeping back over him as he had thought about what would happen if he returned to find that Blaine's condition had somehow deteriorated and eye surgery wasn't enough. Blaine's left eye had already been uncovered and taken care of: another rinse and salve to reduce the sting around the edges had been sufficient, even though he had barely been conscious for it. But his right eye had been bright red and tender, the skin around it an even darker shade of red in scattered droplet patterns that made Kurt's fists clench at his sides at the pockmarked similarity to slushy stains.

Slushy stains that didn't disappear with a gentle rinse and a light hand; slushy stains that shouldn't have been half as prominent, three hours later; slushy stains that could only be one thing in actuality: burns.

Rubbing his thumb along Blaine's hip in slow, even circles to calm the anger welling up inside himself, Kurt breathed out slowly against his hair as Blaine cuddled closer, sleepy and a little disoriented but overall content. It was difficult to hold onto his anger when Blaine needed him to be present. Blaine was too out of it to keep track of everything; all he wanted to do was cuddle. Which meant that it was up to Kurt to keep him close and comfortable and safe and warm. ("I miss your yoga pants." "Why?" "They're the warmest.")

It also meant that Kurt was hyper-aware that if the ophthalmologist didn't believe they could operate once the redness went down, Blaine could be stuck with permanent blindness. Or, worse, acute, recurring pain, a prospect that made Kurt sick with trepidation.

Blaine had leaped in front of the slushy meant for _him. _He was the one who should have been stuck in the hospital, not his perfect, brave, wonderful boyfriend. Blaine might have been hanging out with Sebastian more than Kurt liked, and the fact that Blaine had been texting Sebastian their plans for regionals _had _left a sour taste in Kurt's mouth, but overall, he had known that Blaine's heart was still in the right place. He hadn't been flirting with Sebastian, smiling awkwardly across the coffee table and staring down at his hands: he'd been trying to avoid offending him, polite to a fault.

Sighing a little at the memory, Kurt rubbed Blaine's side absentmindedly, smiling when he hummed softly and cuddled closer. "We should make hot chocolate later," he slurred, cheek resting against Kurt's chest, his left eye closed as he nodded thoughtfully to himself.

"With the little marshmallows?" Kurt asked, re-crossing his legs so they wouldn't fall asleep as Blaine nodded.

"Uh huh." Then, musingly, he added, "Is that what warm milk tastes like? Without the chocolate?"

"Kind of," Kurt said, shifting upright a little more when he heard a knock on the door. "I'd make you some if you'd actually be willing to try it," he added, calling out, "Come in!"

"You're not supposed to microwave milk," Blaine whined, oblivious, as the ophthalmologist entered, a middle-aged woman with a smile on her face.

"That's why you cook it in a pot, honey," Kurt corrected, offering the doctor a rueful smile. "Hi, sorry; I'm Kurt, this is my boyfriend, Blaine."

"Nice to meet you," the doctor said, holding out a hand to shake his. Kurt didn't even have time to be startled that her smile didn't waver, relief and dread mingling at what she might have to say next. "I'm Doctor Johnson. I'm here to confirm Blaine's release as soon as I've taken another look at his eye and checked over the prescriptions that Dr. Rieger prescribed."

Kurt nodded, slipping carefully out of Blaine's hold and ignoring his immediate clinging response as he slid his hands into Blaine's. "It's okay," he soothed, giving them a light squeeze and standing beside the bed instead while Dr. Johnson set to work.

She talked them through the entire exam, noting the improvement in Blaine's eye movements and the noticeable decrease in redness. Blaine still flinched when she applied another series of eye drops, Kurt's heart aching in sympathy as she replaced the gauze and the eye patch itself. Blaine's shoulders relaxed once it was settled into place, his attention clearly wandering as Dr. Johnson stepped back to run through the prescriptions for both painkillers and eye drops, as well as how to reapply the gauze when necessary. Kurt took note of everything and thanked her with another handshake as she told them she would send a nurse in to help ready Blaine to be discharged.

Blaine tugged on Kurt's hand a little and Kurt obligingly sat on the bed again, letting Blaine rest his head on his shoulder as he rubbed his back soothingly. Blaine was asleep again in seconds, too drowsy to cling to consciousness for long, and Kurt took a moment to send a text to Carole both to thank her for staying that morning and so she would know that they were releasing Blaine. He repeated the same to his dad via text, condensing it into, 'They're releasing him' before pocketing his phone and resting his cheek against Blaine's head, breathing him in.

Carole had already called the Andersons earlier to let them know what had happened - Kurt had been more than grateful to hand that particular duty over to her expertise - and confirmed that they would be back around ten that evening from Chicago. Which left Kurt to get Blaine home and keep him comfortable for the intervening time.

Easier said than done, Kurt realized, as he settled Blaine into one of the backseats of his Navigator carefully. Blaine was more deadweight than before, struggling to even buckle his seat belt before letting Kurt take over, gratefully hunching down in the light green blanket Kurt draped over him.

At least the drive to his house was relatively straightforward, and traffic was light, Kurt reflected, stopping by the pharmacy to pick up his medication before driving the rest of the way to the Anderson residence. Blaine was even less obliging when he tried to wake him up a second time, curling in on himself and whining when Kurt nudged his foot.

"Blaine. Blaine. _Blaine_," he sighed, eliciting another whine as he poked Blaine again. Squinting at him with his one good eye, Blaine grumbled as he pushed himself upright and let Kurt loop his arms underneath his shoulders, tugging him out of the Navigator and setting him on the ground carefully before shutting the door and steering him toward the house, one arm wrapped around his waist.

Blaine seemed to perk up a little once he realized that they were home, Kurt fumbling for his key and eventually turning the lock to let them inside. Getting Blaine up the stairs was a challenge, but Kurt was patient and Blaine was willing, and the bedroom awaited. Blaine was conscious enough to recognize that as a reward, at least, and Kurt knew that if it wasn't for the eye patch that he would have flopped down face-first on the mattress as soon as he saw it. Instead, he sat down on the edge, clad in a pair of dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt, shivering a little.

"We should cuddle," he proposed, even as Kurt scoured his dresser for a warm pair of pajamas, humming in vague affirmation as Blaine said sleepily, "because we never cuddle anymore."

"We cuddle all the time," Kurt reminded, selecting a dark navy set that felt surprisingly soft to the touch.

"We're not cuddling right now," Blaine said with a pout, obediently lifting his arms so Kurt could wrestle his shirt over his head, careful not to clip the eye patch. He sighed when Kurt guided his arms into the sleeves, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Kurt's shoulder as he buttoned it up. "I wanna cuddle."

"In due time," Kurt assured, leaning back and kissing his forehead. He undid Blaine's jeans and knelt down to help him shimmy out of them, tugging the pajama pants into place and standing.

He was about to dig out one of Blaine's blankets from the closet when Blaine said plaintively, "Coop says I shouldn't let you pick out my clothes all the time. Stifles my creativity."

"I don't pick them out all the time," Kurt said, digging out the red-and-black checkered blanket that rested on the top shelf and bringing it to the bed. "Scoot up," he urged, waiting until Blaine's back was resting against the headboard before draping the blanket over his legs. Blaine curled his fingers in it and hummed, feet squirming a little underneath it.

"This is so nice," he said, beaming at Kurt while Kurt tucked in the edges a little. "We should do this more often."

"Wear eye patches and cuddle?" Kurt replied, unable to help himself, as he smiled up at Blaine.

"Uh huh," Blaine agreed, stretching his arms out imploringly. "Maybe without the eye patches. You're too pretty for an eye patch."

"You're too kind," Kurt drawled, leaning forward to hug him back briefly, relaxing in his grip in spite of himself. "And you're still cold," he added, pulling back. "Do you want another blanket?"

"I want you," Blaine replied easily, slumped against the headboard.

Kurt kissed his forehead and tucked the edges of the blanket in a little more, saying simply, "I know you do. Do you want something to drink first? I don't want you to get dehydrated."

Blaine shook his head, making grabby hands for Kurt. "C'mere so I can cuddle with you."

Kurt was about to when his phone vibrated. It was his dad, brief as always: _Good. Did you tell him about your NYADA letter?_

Blinking stupidly at the text for a moment, Kurt tapped out a quick, _I didn't, but I will _before pocketing his phone.

"Who was that?" Blaine asked, curious as ever, tugging on the edge of Kurt's shirt, not letting Kurt forget what he wanted.

"My dad," Kurt replied, letting Blaine reel him in a little before pulling away. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Blaine frowned, hands falling back to his sides. "Is it bad?"

"Not at all," Kurt assured. He couldn't contain his smile, then, and Blaine smiled back, tentative but excited. Leaning back obediently against the headboard, he looked expectantly up at Kurt. Without waiting for another response, Kurt hurried downstairs, retrieving his bag from his Navigator before returning to Blaine's bedroom. "What's in that?" Blaine asked, inquisition accompanied by grabbing hands as Kurt handed the bag to him. He shuffled through the papers and paused when he saw the open letter, pulling it out of the bag and staring at it.

"What's this?"

Kurt sat in the red leather armchair beside him so Blaine could see him, reaching over to brush Blaine's thumb aside, revealing the NYADA stamp. Sliding it out of his hands gently, he pulled the letter out and read, "Dear Mr. Hummel . . . Congratulations on your acceptance as a finalist for the NYADA 2012-2013 term."

"You're a finalist?" Blaine asked, sitting upright and repeating, "_Kurt, _you're a finalist!"

"I'm a finalist," Kurt agreed, and he didn't even try to resist Blaine's tug as he pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, holding him close. "I'm so proud of you, Kurt. You're a NYADA finalist!"

Kurt nodded, savoring Blaine's closeness, able to pretend with his cheek pressed against his hair that nothing wrong had happened, that he was merely enjoying an evening with his boyfriend and not taking care of him after being slushied by Sebastian.

Then he pulled back a little and saw the eye patch and he couldn't pretend, reaching up to cup Blaine's cheek in one hand and running a thumb over his jawline. Blaine's good eye fluttered shut as his grip on Kurt's shirt relaxed, quiet and sated. Kurt held him for a moment longer, captive and captivated, before gently releasing his jaw and leaning down to kiss his cheek, once, very gently.

Blaine didn't flinch, humming softly in response and tilting his head just so, inquisitive. Kurt hesitated before kissing him on the lips, careful not to bump his nose or his cheek or his jaw, anything that could set off the pain, but Blaine remained relaxed in his grip, one hand sliding down Kurt's side to hold onto his hip instead.

He sank onto one knee on the bed, perched on the edge, one arm wrapped around Blaine's back and the other cradling the back of his neck, letting some of the fear, the anguish, the anger go. It was easier to melt into the kiss, the kisses, until at last he had to pull away, resting his forehead against Blaine's shoulder while Blaine stroked the small of his back.

"I love you," Kurt breathed, and he meant it, Blaine tilting his head to kiss his cheek once, almost playfully.

"I love you, too," Blaine quipped, smiling. Kurt turned to kiss him again and bit his lip when Blaine winced, their noses bumping. It wasn't much, but Kurt knew how sensitive the skin around Blaine's eye was, tender and sore.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, stroking Blaine's shoulder in lieu of his cheek as Blaine shook his head, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Don't be," he assured, offering him a weak smile. "It's okay, it's just - tender." His voice was a little higher on that note, and Kurt frowned before checking his watch, sighing when he realized that they still had a couple hours - until seven at the earliest - before Blaine could take more pain medication.

"I could read to you?" Kurt offered, rubbing his knee a little.

Blaine hesitated, licking his lips before asking, "Does the hot chocolate offer still stand?"

Kurt's trepidation dissolved into a smile as he said, "Of course," and got up off the bed. "Do you want me to put on some music for you?"

Blaine hesitated, thinking it over, before nodding, closing his eye and resting his head back against the headboard. "That would be nice."

Kurt nodded, padding over to Blaine's stereo system and flipping through the options before selecting an instrumental track, grabbing the remote and setting it on the nightstand beside Blaine. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised, squeezing his hand once. "Remote's on the table if you want it."

Blaine nodded, not opening his eye as he relaxed.

Ten minutes later, Blaine was sipping delicately from a mug of hot chocolate while Kurt read through the latest issue of _Vogue, _one hand intertwined with his. Kurt had tried sitting on the bed beside him to read, but Blaine had liked being able to see him. He had wanted to be able to see him, squeezing his hand every so often to remind _Kurt _that he was there and smiling at him whenever Kurt looked over at him.

Kurt smiled back, losing himself a little in the text as Blaine finished his hot chocolate and dozed, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Taking the mug from his limp fingers so he wouldn't spill the remainder on the blanket, Kurt continued to read calmly, his voice soothing to his own ears after the chaos of hospitals and parking lots and McKinley.

It felt good, to listen to Blaine's steady breaths, knowing that he was there, that he would be _okay._

Kurt felt the moment that Blaine drifted off into sleep again and didn't mind, continuing to read as he ran a thumb over the back of Blaine's knuckles, content to have him near.

. o .

Blaine awoke when he felt Kurt's fingers slide out of his grasp, whining softly at his absence. He heard Kurt say, "Hush," and so he did, trusting and patient. Kurt was always right, as time had proven: about Sebastian, about hot chocolate, and even about fashion magazines, too. Blaine had never known how nice it would be to listen to Kurt talk uninterrupted, words blending together in a way that drifted pleasantly through his mind, but it was, and he was positive that he could listen to Kurt talk forever. Everything else required movement, and his body was so heavy and his mind felt wrapped in cotton; it was so much nicer to be able to sit and listen to Kurt instead.

But Kurt was gone and Blaine was alone, his fingers grasping at where Kurt's had been, another whine escaping him at the prospect of being alone. He didn't want to be alone. His eye still hurt and his parents weren't home, they were in Chicago, and all he wanted was to curl up in Kurt's voice and sink in it forever, but Kurt was gone.

Then a warm hand squeezed his own and he startled, left eye blinking rapidly to keep up with the dizzyingly dark world. Everything felt slightly out of focus, even though he knew it was only his right eye that was still damaged. He couldn't see the right side of his room like he normally could, and the prospect that he needed to have surgery was nauseating. He didn't want to have surgery. Surgery was scary. Surgery could go wrong and then he would never be able to see properly again.

The thought made the ache in his right eye even more acute, so he was grateful when Kurt draped an arm around his back and lifted him, fluffing the pillow behind him before sitting him against it. Kurt was always so thoughtful in that way: he never needed to be asked, he just _knew. _Blaine wondered if he had been the same way after Kurt's dad had had the heart attack, thoughtful and quiet, always there, always helpful. It was really nice of Kurt to be there for _him, _even though he hadn't had a heart attack, because it was scary, not knowing what could go wrong, not knowing if he should savor these last few days when the worst ache was the occasionally searing pain in his right eye.

It hurt, though, and he was relieved when Kurt handed him a glass of water and a pill. He swallowed it down obediently, not sure what it did but more than happy to take it if it meant the pain would go away. He'd never had a high tolerance for pain. But he had Kurt, and the medicine to dull the ache, and that was enough for him.

Kurt went back to reading and Blaine relaxed, focusing on him and his voice as they held hands - tried to; Blaine's fingers couldn't seem to wrap around Kurt's properly, so he settled for gripping his index finger instead - and hummed softly whenever Kurt asked if he was doing okay. With Kurt? He was amazing. It was being alone that he couldn't stand, and as long as Kurt stayed, then he would be fine.

"We don't have to build a snowman," he told him after a time, a little sleepy around the edges but determined to stay awake. He didn't want to fall asleep and wake up to find Kurt gone; Kurt was too important to miss.

Kurt tipped his head to look at him as soon as he said it, intrigued. "I could just melt in your voice," Blaine explained, and Kurt smiled in that shy way he did when he was pleased, just a little quirking at the corners of his mouth before flicking his eyes back to the page.

"You should stay," he added, resisting the impulsive urge to say _forever. _"I could bake you cookies. Like I promised."

"You don't have to bake me cookies, honey. I'll stay as long as you want me to."

_Honey. _Blaine squirmed happily at the pet name - he had never thought that Kurt would be the pet name type before he had dated him, but _honey _and _baby _and _sweetheart _were just so natural and sweet on his lips - before admitting, "I want you to stay forever."

Kurt smiled, turning his hand over so he could squeeze Blaine's a little. "I'll stay as long as you want me to," he repeated, and Blaine knew that it was a promise, somehow, and it made him squirm a little more, unable to contain his delight.

Kurt wanted to be there. He wanted to be there with Blaine, even though Blaine probably looked ridiculous and unattractive and every adjective in between with the eye patch. Except pirates had eye patches, and pirates were cool. So maybe it wasn't a complete loss, after all; maybe Kurt had a thing for pirates.

"I do _not _have a thing for pirates," Kurt assured, laughing in that high, sweet way he did when he couldn't contain it, and Blaine pouted because pirates were awesome and he _should._ "I think those are the drugs talking, sweetheart."

Blaine pouted. He wasn't on drugs. Drugs were bad. Unless they were for dulling the ache in his eye, he amended, sinking back into that comfortable half-conscious place as Kurt read, pondering the merits of drugs. He was about to open his mouth to retort when he heard a knock on the door, glancing over and beaming when he saw Finn and Rachel there. "Hey," he said, sitting up straighter even though the pillow underneath him slumped a little and he ended up moving nowhere at all. "Hey, guys."

"What are you two doing here?" Kurt asked, surprised, and Blaine was surprised, too. In a good way. He loved seeing his friends, even if he was pretty sure that Finn and he were still working on being friends and Rachel was a little scary sometimes.

"We thought we'd bring you a few get well soon presents," Rachel announced in typical Rachel fashion. "I brought you some special homemade vegan chicken noodle soup," she said, passing the tin along to Kurt while Blaine glanced curiously at it. _Homemade vegan chicken noodle soup _was such a mouthful that he almost missed Finn's present, a stack of pirate-themed movies four thick that he set on the edge of the bed. Blaine wriggled his toes a little in excitement in spite of himself; pirate-themed movies were _awesome. _Or at least, Sam had always made them seem awesome with his impressions. He couldn't imagine that they would be bad with Kurt around, unless Kurt really didn't like pirate movies.

But, still: "These are so thoughtful, thank you so much," he said, taking the tin from Kurt and smiling at them both. "You didn't have to do anything for me."

"Well, we thought it was only reasonable after what Sebastian did to you," Rachel pointed out.

"Yeah," Finn agreed, looking more somber than usual as Blaine directed his attention to him instead. "And we just wanted to say that we've got your back, dude. Not just us, but - all of Glee club."

Blaine's heart leaped a little in his chest at the thought that the Glee club cared that much about him. He knew that the New Directions were slowly getting used to his presence, and he liked being a part of their group, but sometimes it was hard to see their tolerance of him as anything more than that. He couldn't find any words to say to that, looking down at his hands - one of them still wrapped around Kurt's, and that made him smile - before Finn spoke again.

"So when's the surgery?"

"This week," Blaine sighed, giving Kurt's hand a little squeeze and feeling the tension loosen in his chest at the answering squeeze in reply, "and honestly, I'm terrified."

"Don't sweat it, dude," Finn said. "You'll do great."

Blaine didn't know if surgery was anything _he _could do great at, except maybe not dying - and he really _didn't _want to die, there were too many wonderful things that he wanted to do with Kurt - but Kurt didn't seem worried about it so he tried to mimic him, offering a weak smile in reply.

"Thanks," he said simply. He could feel sleep tugging at him, but he wanted to stay awake, for Kurt, if nothing else, but even as he made the resolution he felt the world going fuzzier around the edges, his grip on Kurt's finger the only solidarity in the world. He could tell that Rachel and Finn and Kurt were still speaking, but it felt far away, unimportant, especially with Kurt at his side. All he needed was Kurt. All he ever needed was Kurt.

He blinked awake when he heard Kurt sing, higher than usual and borderline whimsical, a laugh on the edge of his voice. Then Rachel was singing - and Blaine didn't recognize the song, but he couldn't help but blush when Finn joined in, somehow aware that they were singing about _him, _albeit playfully - and he did his best not to squirm at the attention. He wasn't sure he succeeded, but it was nice, still, to be a part of their circle, to be included in their particular brand of crazy.

So he sat back and listened, focusing on Kurt, angelic and peaceful as always, somehow a rock in an utterly unstable world. Blaine gave his hand a little squeeze when they finished, smiling appreciatively at being included, however silly the moment was.

Finn and Rachel stayed a little longer, laughing and chatting back and forth with Kurt, and Blaine occasionally piped in with his own slurred comment - and he knew he sounded on the edge of sleep because he _was, _but no one seemed to mind, not even Kurt, so it was okay - and finally they left and it was just Kurt and him, Kurt brushing his hand so gently as he leaned over to take the vegan soup. Blaine didn't mind, good eye fluttering the rest of the way shut as Kurt moved about the room. Blaine didn't know what he was up to and didn't particularly care, because then he was helping Blaine underneath the covers so Blaine could lie down and sliding into the space between him and the edge of the bed, back pressed against the headboard.

"I love you so much," Blaine breathed, fingers curled in Kurt's shirt as Kurt scratched lightly at the nape of his neck, humming softly in response. "Thank you for being here." And he meant it, every word, but mostly he meant the warm feeling in his chest that wouldn't stop growing until he told Kurt about it, until he showed him how much he loved him.

"I love you, too," Kurt replied simply, while Blaine rested the less painful cheek against his chest and breathed, soaking him in. "Go to sleep, B."

That was all it took: between one breath and the next he was gone, tucked safely in Kurt's arms and unflaggingly determined to be stay forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

**Third of four installments! 4,500 words for this part, 14,500 altogether. Enjoy!**

They met in the same classroom as before, Santana leaning back against the teacher's desk this time, expression stoic, while Kurt stood across from her, arms folded as she pressed play on the cassette.

He'd expected the first half, the initial confrontation with the Warblers. The sing-off surprised him, but Santana's face remained utterly unmoving, so he listened, waiting, and then:

_"What the hell did you put in that slushy?"_

_"Rock salt. But it's okay."_

_"I just told you that Blaine could lose an eye, how is it okay?"_

_"It's okay because I didn't put anything in this one._"

Kurt's fingers twitched at the sound of frozen ice smacking skin. He couldn't think, could barely breathe with the anger seething underneath his own skin. "He needs to be expelled," he said softly. His voice was surprisingly stoic, almost bored, but he knew that if he let his true feelings show then he wouldn't stop until he'd shouted himself hoarse.

_Does he have any idea what Blaine went through? How much they hurt him, that night? Blaine could have _died_._

_He could have died and I convinced him to transfer to keep him away from sadistic people like Sebastian that take _pleasure _in pouring rock salt into a slushy that might have _blinded _my _boyfriend.

"I'm still in favor of dragging him, bound and gagged, to the nearest tattoo parlor for a tramp stamp that reads, 'Tips appreciated' or 'Congratulations, you're my thousandth customer.'"

"I'm not in the mood, Santana," he snapped, dragging his hands over his head, trying to crush his emotions inward. It had seemed perfect, yesterday, when his biggest concern was making sure Blaine was comfortable and all other thoughts were secondary. Of course he had _wanted _Sebastian to pay for what he had done, but it hadn't been a priority: making sure Blaine was safe was his priority. Making sure Blaine had everything he needed and that Blaine wouldn't be alone had been his priority.

Finding out what exactly had _caused _the burns, the excruciating pain, had been a priority. But until he actually _knew, _until he heard Sebastian's drawling, apathetic, "_Rock salt,_" he hadn't known just how much vengeance was a necessary.

He wanted to kill him. His first reaction to those words was simply _I'm going to kill him._

Punching him in the face seemed childish, useless. Punching him in the face wouldn't replicate the agony that he had put Blaine through, Blaine who had only expressed kindness toward him regardless of how hostile Sebastian had become, Blaine who had only ever wanted to be _Kurt's _boyfriend ("_Sebastian means _nothing _to me_"), Blaine who couldn't have known what was he was in for when he had lunged to protect Kurt.

Kurt's fingers were curling into fists and his heart was already pounding when Santana snapped her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention back to the present. "Still want to take the high road?" she asked.

Kurt felt sick. _The high road._ Non-violence. Passivity. Forgiveness.

Shaking his head, Kurt buttoned up his coat. "I'm skipping class," he said dully, meeting Santana's eyes and knowing that she didn't care. He didn't care, either: classes, McKinley, _Dalton, _all of it seemed terribly mundane, dangerously submissive in the greater scheme of things. Staying silent meant that Sebastian would get away with it. Staying silent was not an option.

He was halfway to his car when he got the text. _I need you._

Three words, and the bottom dropped out of Kurt's world. _I'm on my way._

He made it to Blaine's house in record time. The drive was a blur, street signs and stop lights barely acknowledged as he pulled into the Andersons' driveway and all but ran to the front door, barely remembering to lock his car behind himself.

It was eerily quiet inside, and Kurt's stomach sank as he called out, "Blaine?"

He didn't get a response, making his heart ache more, fear and dread vying for dominance as he stood on the hall, momentarily frozen. Snapping out of his daze, he hurried up the stairs, not knowing what he would find and whether he wanted to find it at all. Ignorance was bliss. Ignorance was such bliss.

He found Blaine curled up on the floor at the foot of his bed, knees drawn to his chest and hands over his eye, shaking. "Honey?" he said, edging closer and sitting on the floor beside him, rubbing a hand over his shoulder worriedly. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Blaine didn't respond immediately, whining steadily into his hands, and Kurt didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do, he felt frantic but desperately unsure until at last Blaine ground out, "Hurts."

"Oh, sweetheart." Kurt gathered him into his arms, shushing him, kissing the top of his head, rubbing his back, anything to make him more comfortable. "It's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I'm here now."

Kurt kept up a steady stream of soothing nonsense until the shivers died down, eventually coaxing Blaine's hands away from his face. His right eye was shut and uncovered - Kurt didn't know how he hadn't seen that the eye patch was missing sooner - the skin around it red, irritated. His left eye seemed fine but he'd been rubbing at it, the skin a warm pink, as though scrubbing at it might cure the ache in his other eye.

"Honey," Kurt crooned again, kissing his left temple, unable to express the sympathy that he felt in words. Luckily Blaine didn't seem to need words, leaning against him, clinging to his shirt to ground himself.

Kurt heard the door open downstairs and didn't move, rocking Blaine slowly, calming both of them. He hadn't even realized that his own heart had still been racing until he felt the tension leave Blaine's shoulder, inch by inch, until they were huddled against each other, taking comfort from each other's closeness. Kurt didn't speak when he heard someone climbing the stairs, didn't move when Blaine's mother appeared in the doorway.

"Kurt," she said, startled, worry lacing her tone as she asked, "Blaine, what happened?"

To Kurt's horror, Blaine's shoulders started shaking again, tears dampening his own shoulder as he cuddled Blaine closer, all but hauling him into his lap. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, rubbing his back firmly. "It's okay. Don't cry, sweetheart, it'll make it hurt more." He pressed kisses along his jaw, barely noticing Blaine's mother's retreat until Blaine was still in his arms, almost limp.

Kurt didn't want to move him, but his legs were falling asleep under their combined weight and he knew that Blaine would be more comfortable on the bed. Gingerly, he slid out of Blaine's hold and eased him to his feet, re-settling him on the bed against the headboard and pulling the abandoned red-and-black checkered blanket over his hips. Blaine sagged against his hold, curling his arms around his waist when he leaned over to tuck him in, forehead resting against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he rasped, voice already heavy with fatigue.

"Don't be," Kurt said, kissing his forehead once. "Let me get you some more painkillers, okay?"

Blaine nodded, releasing him. Retrieving a fresh roll of gauze from the drawer and his pain medicine, Kurt re-bandaged Blaine's eye with patient, steady hands. By the time he'd handed him the next set of pills, Blaine was woozy with sleep, grumbling a little before taking them and replacing his cheek against Kurt's chest. He was asleep in seconds, one hand curled in Kurt's shirt, Kurt's own arm wrapped around him protectively.

Kurt didn't move for a time, lying on the bed beside him, stroking the curls at the nape of his neck and letting the calmness soothe him. It wasn't until Blaine's mother reappeared in the doorway that Kurt startled, remaining as still as he could so as not to wake Blaine as she looked over them, a small, sad smile on her face.

"It's hard to leave him alone sometimes," she said quietly, and Kurt didn't respond at first. Then he very slowly, very gently detached himself from Blaine. Sneaking the still-warm pillow that had been behind his back into Blaine's arms, Kurt slid off the bed and followed her out of the room, sparing one last look at his boyfriend as he did so, leaving the door open and making sure his phone was still on the nightstand within easy reach.

Once they were downstairs, Kurt followed her into the kitchen, not knowing what he was seeking but searching, still, as he leaned back against the counter, arms folded, waiting.

"Thank you for coming," she began, already unpacking a pile of groceries, tucking items on shelves and in cupboards. "I didn't expect him to wake up while I was gone."

Kurt didn't speak. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have any grounds to argue. He had left Blaine alone, after all. Against his wishes, but he doubted Blaine's mother had done it to spite him.

"Do you need any help?" he asked, surprised to find himself asking at all. He was grateful when she shook her head.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner, though, if you'd like," she offered. He glanced at his watch, startled, before relaxing when he realized it was only three.

And, tempting though it was to spend more time with Blaine, he knew that Blaine needed rest. And Kurt's dad would miss him, too.

"No, but thank you," he said, sparing one last glance at the stairs as he added, "I have something I need to take care of."

Blaine's mother nodded. "Of course." Then: "Thank you. Really. We're lucky to have you around." The smile she offered him was warm, but he could only muster a halfhearted smile in return, one hand tugging at his own collar a little, self-consciously. He didn't want to be thanked for soothing Blaine's pain. He wanted to make Blaine stop hurting.

He kept silent as Blaine's mother explained their business trip, and how Blaine's father was at work - would be until later that night. It was easy to let the words slip past him, even easier still to nod and offer a polite good-bye as he left her and Blaine.

Sitting behind the front wheel of his Navigator, he wavered, unsure where to go with his rage a distant thing, an ugly, unwanted feeling.

Still: "_What the hell did you put in that slushy?_"

"_Rock salt._"

The drive to Dalton Academy took an hour.

Kurt didn't hesitate.

. o .

The Warblers' hall was crowded when Kurt entered. It fell silent as he stepped further into the room, Sebastian leaning jauntily against the Warblers' council table, a smirk plastered on his face. "Oh, hey, Kurt," he said into the subsequent hush, Warblers parting to let Kurt further into the room. They seemed uneasy, tense, and Kurt knew why. He didn't care.

"Non-members aren't allowed at formal meetings," Sebastian said coolly, and that was all it took, really. One moment Kurt was standing rigidly across the floor from him, the next punching him in the face.

Childish. Useless. But far more satisfying than he had expected, the hot ache in his knuckles a pleasant counterpoint to the coldness in his chest.

Sebastian reeled, planting one hand on the table, head bowed for a moment as color bloomed in his cheek.

No one spoke. No one moved. Kurt could hear his own ragged breaths, and the temptation was there, to do it again, to see how hard Sebastian would fall, how easily he could break.

He wanted to. He desperately wanted to.

But then he caught a glimpse of the other Warblers and his rage condensed, cooled. Became more manageable. They looked guilty. Afraid, even. But anger was absent, utterly, devastatingly so, and Kurt's own dissipated in the wake of it, empty.

He could beat Sebastian until his fists ran with blood and his chest ached from the exertion, but it would never, never change what had happened.

And he looked at the Warblers, then, and he saw it in their eyes, the fear, the uncertainty, the readiness. For what, he didn't know - to intercede, perhaps? To stop him from becoming as ruthless as they were?

Suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of their scrutiny, their expectation, Kurt took three careful steps back as Sebastian slowly straightened. Slowly - wary. That was good. That felt good, loosened some of the tension in Kurt's chest.

"That was for Blaine," he said quietly.

"Kurt," Trent began, but he was already walking away, letting the door fall heavily shut behind him.

He didn't look back, his fists trembling at his side.

He didn't look back, sliding into the seat of his Navigator and driving to his house, utterly aware of his aching hand.

He didn't look back at all, not once, and even when Finn asked him what was wrong all he said was, "Rock salt." Then, at his baffled expression, so blissfully ignorant, Kurt took a deep breath and explained, "Sebastian put rock salt in the slushy."

He didn't wait for Finn's reply; he walked into the basement, shutting the door behind him, and found the nearest pillow he could scream into, hugging it to his chest and shaking wordlessly instead.

By dinner, he was sane again. But meeting Finn's gaze across the table, he knew that the fight wasn't over.

. o .

Blaine's surgery was scheduled for Friday, which meant that Kurt was anxious and irritable and distracted all day. He didn't care about Mr. Schuester's lesson. He didn't care about his classes. All that mattered was the outcome of Blaine's surgery.

Recovery, or permanent blindness.

Success, or drastic, incurable failure.

Struggling to maintain even the appearance of concentration, Kurt skipped after school Glee club rehearsal and went straight to the hospital, instead.

"How is he?" he demanded as Carole met him halfway, already on her feet. "Is he okay?"

"Honey, he's fine," Carole said, and she caught him under the arms when he was close enough, holding him up. "He's in recovery right now, but the surgery went well. He's fine."

Kurt's knees were weak with relief and he was grateful that she supported him, then. "When - when can we see him?" he asked, struggling to get the words past the sudden dryness in his mouth. Blaine was okay. The surgery had gone well.

Blaine was okay.

"He'll have to wear an eye patch for a few weeks," Carole warned. "At least until his eye fully recovers."

Kurt nodded: Blaine was okay. He was okay.

"But you can see him as soon as they get him moved to a room," she explained. "His mother's with him right now."

Blaine was okay. Blaine was okay.

"Honey?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said weakly, gratefully accepting her hug.

"It's okay," she said, holding him.

"It's okay," he echoed, and it felt real, the relief.

Blaine was okay.

Blaine was okay.

. o .

"I need to talk to you."

Kurt stiffened as he looked up from his coffee, meeting Trent's gaze with a cold, utterly implacable stare. He'd come to the Lima Bean to focus on his work, and instead, Trent stood in front of him, looking somehow conflicted and resigned in his Warbler's uniform. "I don't have anything to say to you," Kurt dismissed, returning to his notes and trying to ignore the way that his neck prickled when Trent didn't leave.

"I'm sorry. About what happened to Blaine. I never wanted him to get hurt." Then, guiltily: "He _shouldn't _have been hurt. I would have stopped him if I knew."

"Knew _what, _exactly? That it was a slushy? Or that it had rock salt in it?" Trent was still, then, receding from Kurt's anger, but Kurt was gaining momentum, saying, "Because it doesn't matter if you didn't _know. _What matters is that it happened and you did _nothing _to stop it. You knew that - " He halted on the words, unable to say them: _That slushy was meant for me._

It still ached in him, even if Blaine post-surgery was somehow even loopier than Blaine had been after Kurt had taken him home from the hospital the first time. Blaine didn't care that the slushy had been meant for Kurt. He didn't seem sad or upset or even hurt at all, bubbly and warm, delighted to see him whenever he stopped by. Yet the knowledge ached in Kurt because he _knew _that the slushy had been meant for him, that the Warblers had actually intended to hurt _him._

And instead they had hurt Blaine and walked away from him.

"I have nothing to say to you," he repeated firmly.

He thought Trent might walk away, then, but instead he said quietly, "_We're _sorry. Not just me, but. The other Warblers." Shuffling on his feet, he added, "We want to make it up to you."

"You can't," Kurt said at once, fixing his attention on the papers in front of him.

"Please?"

Kurt scowled, glaring up at him. "What part of _you can't _don't you understand?"

"We want to - "

"I don't care what you _want,_" Kurt said, and he saw understanding, then. _Finally. _"I'm not interested."

Trent lingered a moment longer, looking contrite, before backing off without another word.

Kurt tried to concentrate on his work, then, but the conversation left a sour taste in his mouth, making his coffee seem bitter.

With a sigh, he gathered his papers and stuffed them into his bag, grateful that Trent had left. Bee-lining for the coffee counter, he picked up another non-fat mocha for himself and a heart-shaped cookie for Blaine to go, deciding that if he couldn't be productive, then at least he could be happier _somewhere._

And what better place than at his loopy boyfriend's side?

Unable to help himself, he smiled, paying the cashier and accepting the brown bag.

Bribes never hurt, either, although Blaine was already full of affection to spare.

Still. Valentine's day was only three weeks away. Kurt wasn't about to let that opportunity skate by him again.

. o .

"This is so sweet," Blaine said, examining the heart-shaped cookie and beaming at Kurt. "_Kuuurt. _You bought me a _heart-shaped cookie._"

"It's almost Valentine's day," Kurt said, flapping a hand dismissively but blushing pink. Adorable.

"_Kuuurt_." Blaine all but kicked his feet in delight because Kurt was the most amazing, wonderful boyfriend ever and he had totally been craving cookies all morning. All morning. And now Kurt had brought him one because Kurt was actually perfect. Or close to it. Perfectly imperfect. He'd told him that, hadn't he? He should. "You're perfectly imperfect," he said, testing out the words and deciding, from Kurt's slow, easy smile that yes, he had.

But Kurt just squeezed his hand and said, "And you're high as a kite."

Blaine hummed, looking down at the cookie and pouting as he realized that Kurt had bought _him _a heart-shaped cookie, but he didn't have one for Kurt. He was the worst boyfriend ever. He could break it in half and give it to Kurt, but then it might send the wrong message, and he didn't want to send the wrong message.

So he turned the cookie over in his hands, unable to keep the smile from his lips even though it hurt a little because his eye was still sore. The doctors and nurses had assured him that it would be fine, and in a few weeks, he wouldn't even need an eye patch. Then he wouldn't look like a pirate anymore, but that was okay. Kurt said he'd still love him even if he didn't look like a pirate. Hadn't he?

"I'll still love you even if you don't have an eye patch," Kurt said, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze. Blaine squeezed it back, delighted, mostly because holding hands with Kurt was amazing. He'd always wanted to hold hands with someone, and Kurt had the softest, nicest hands ever.

"You have the nicest hands," he told him, and Kurt smiled a little, but there was a sad edge to it. Like he wanted to frown. Blaine tilted his head and it stayed the same, so he asked, "Why are you sad?" _Because you didn't bring me a heart cookie, _he could almost hear Kurt say, and he looked down at his own cookie guiltily. Then, brightening, he said, "You can have it, if you want."

"No, honey, that's for you," Kurt assured.

Oh. Blaine took a nibble from it because if Kurt said so then it must be so. "Do you want part of it?" he asked, breaking a piece off. Delicious cookies deserved to be shared, but Kurt just shook his head, looking even sadder than before. "What's wrong?" he asked, determined, as he set the cookie aside, refusing to be distracted this time.

Kurt sighed, and Blaine knew that he was on the right track, even if Kurt's thumb running across his knuckles was distracting. Very distracting.

_Focus._

"Talk to me?" he asked, and Kurt looked like he wanted to change the subject. Normally Blaine wouldn't mind - he loved talking about anything with Kurt - but he knew that something was upsetting him. And he didn't like it when anything was upsetting him. "Maybe I can fix it?" he suggested.

He could fix anything Kurt needed him to. He would gladly volunteer to single-handedly cure world hunger if Kurt asked him to, but Kurt always seemed to know his limits. Even though Blaine _wanted _to cure world hunger, Kurt had never asked him to, because he knew that it was a lot of work for one person.

Or maybe that was exactly what he wanted to ask now and was struggling to put voice to because he didn't want to over-burden Blaine. "You can tell me anything," he said helpfully, hoping that might help relieve some of his anxiety.

"It's Sebastian," Kurt admitted with a sigh. Blaine gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, hoping that he would say more, but then he bit his lip, visibly reigning his emotions inward.

Blaine frowned. He didn't want that. "What about Sebastian?" he asked gently.

"I hate what he did to you," Kurt said, reaching up to brush a hand along Blaine's cheek which, oh. Oh. That was so nice. So, so nice. Especially when Kurt curled his fingers around his jaw a little, cradling it. So, so nice.

Blaine had to wrack his brain for a moment to even remember who Sebastian _was_; he was half-tempted to offer Kurt his credit card as repayment because his thumb was rubbing circles against his cheek and it was just so nice.

And he'd brought him a heart-shaped cookie.

Kurt was the best boyfriend ever.

But Kurt still looked sad, Blaine noticed, when his good eye fluttered open and he could see him again. And he'd mentioned Sebastian.

Sebastian was the reason he had an eye patch.

"I like the eye patch," Blaine said, thinking that maybe _that_ would put a smile back on Kurt's face when he realized that it wasn't about him. It was about Kurt.

What if Kurt didn't like the eye patch? Was that what this was about? Blaine had been excited because it had made him look like a pirate and Kurt had always agreed with him that pirates were pretty awesome, but maybe Kurt didn't like eye patches. Maybe Kurt didn't like that he was wearing an eye patch.

And even though Blaine was pretty sure there was a good reason why he was wearing an eye patch, Kurt's happiness was more important. Always.

"I could take it off," he offered, reaching up to do so.

Kurt caught his hand, though, shaking his head. "No, no, honey, leave it on. It's not the eye patch."

Blaine pouted at him. "Tell me," he insisted. He was Kurt's boyfriend. He couldn't let Kurt be _sad _and do nothing about it, eye patch or not.

Maybe Kurt would feel better if they cuddled while they talked about it. Blaine always felt better when the cuddled. Inspired, he scooted over and patted the space beside himself invitingly. "Come up here," he insisted, because Kurt was too far, anyway, and it was so much better having him close.

Kurt hesitated again and Blaine tugged on his hand a little. "C'mere."

Letting out a too-heavy sigh, Kurt climbed on the bed beside him and Blaine wriggled his feet as he scooted closer again, pressed against Kurt's side and humming happily.

"This is so nice," he said, resting his cheek against Kurt's shoulder and nudging his foot with one of his own. Kurt nudged his foot back and Blaine giggled, unable to help himself, bringing out the first sunny smile from Kurt he'd seen all day. All week, really. He loved Kurt's sunny smiles, the ones that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and startled a tiny little laugh from him. He couldn't help but smile in return and nuzzle closer, half-eaten cookie forgotten at his side. "I love you so much," he mumbled, because his cheek was a little smooshed against Kurt's chest when he shifted to wrap an arm around his shoulders but it couldn't be more perfect.

"I love you, too," Kurt said, kissing the top of his head. "My brave, wonderful boyfriend."

Blaine was about to tell him that that was _his _line when he felt Kurt's fingers brushing through his hair lightly which. Oh. Oh.

Kurt really was the best boyfriend ever.

. o .

Kurt didn't know how to be angry around Blaine. Anger directed towards Blaine seemed impossible, because just being near him - listening to his soft, even breathing in sleep, feeling the comforting weight of his body draped at his side - calmed Kurt immensely.

Sebastian didn't matter. Sebastian was evil and in some small, cynical place in his mind, he hated him, but Sebastian didn't _matter, _not compared to this.

All that mattered was Blaine, and making Blaine happy and keeping him safe and protected and loved.

As long as he had Blaine, he could learn to forgive. He could learn to forget.

Because anger was exhausting and bitter and disappointing. And he was tired of being _angry._

So he let himself relax, hugging his boyfriend close and kissing him on the top of his head once more because he could, and carefully set the half-eaten heart cookie on the nightstand.

Then he shimmed down the bed so he could cuddle Blaine properly and settled down for a very much needed nap.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

It was easier to process what the Warblers had done to Blaine when Kurt didn't think about Blaine himself.

Given the circumstances, it was almost impossible to divorce the two: Blaine's involvement and Kurt's present dilemma were inherently inter-connected. If Kurt had been slushied, then he might have been able to forgive the Warblers more easily, but Kurt had barely seen the Big Quench cup before Blaine had shoved him aside and shielded him from it. Kurt had been helpless to stop the Warblers because he hadn't known what they had been planning, and the awareness that the Warblers must have premeditated the act made Kurt's blood boil.

Worse, they hadn't had a change of heart once they had realized that their plan had backfired. They hadn't come to Blaine's aid and, with the exception of Nick, they hadn't even looked back once they had turned and walked away, close on Sebastian's heels.

As far as Kurt was concerned, they were all equally responsible. Sebastian stood out as the instigator, but the Warblers' betrayal of Blaine's trust went deeper than merely allowing the act to happen.

Kurt might have forgiven them if they had stayed and helped him. He might have forgiven him if someone, anyone, had stopped Sebastian.

But he couldn't forgive them from walking away from Blaine when Blaine had needed them most.

So he didn't focus on Blaine. He focused on the slushy and Sebastian and what options were left to him.

Vengeance appealed to him in more ways than one. Sebastian deserved to be punished, and one punch didn't carry the same weight as a rock-salt laced slushy, regardless of how satisfying it had been to watch _Sebastian _reel for a change. More importantly, Blaine deserved to be avenged: the stress of missing almost two weeks of school was already catching up to him, and the eye surgery and emergency room visits alone constituted at least a formal trial for Sebastian. If nothing else, Kurt wanted the Warblers to understand how much pain that they had put Blaine through and how much he hated them as a result.

Blaine had always spoken highly of the Warblers, and Kurt had known that the Warblers had been a close-knit family, ready to defend and protect each other if need be. They had learned from each other and formed close friendships over the years. At a time, they had been almost inseparable: Kurt had struggled initially to find Blaine at times without a small pack of Warblers sprawled on couches or seated around the same table as he was, smiling invitingly at Kurt every time, even if he had needed to pull up a chair to make room. Yet even Blaine's endless praise about his friends had quieted after half a dozen of the seniors had graduated at their previous year's end. Blaine had been hopeful about their replacements and Kurt hadn't known enough about Sebastian's nature until they met at the Lima Bean to worry.

Until the Jackson-off, the Warblers had become a part of their past. Blaine had been acclimating to the New Directions, and Kurt had been doing his best to keep Sebastian from flirting with his boyfriend. In spite of his evident guilt that he had unintentionally tipped the Warblers off to the New Directions' plans to sing Michael Jackson at regionals, Blaine had proposed the sing-off and followed through magnificently. Kurt had been so distracted with the way Blaine's, Artie's, and Santana's voices danced around each other that he hadn't been warier about the Warblers' troubled, even grim expressions.

And then it had been too late.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kurt focused his thoughts on the immediate present, tucking his emotions aside.

The Anderson house was quiet, but Kurt was used to the silence, and often it was a nice contrast to the chaos of his own home. With Blaine asleep at his side, his thoughts wandered freely, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric covering Blaine's shoulder blades. Blaine had his cheek pressed against Kurt's stomach, his arms wrapped around his waist and his fingers curled loosely in Kurt's red button-down. The warmth that swelled in Kurt's chest at the sight of him, relaxed and comfortable, made his heart beat seem louder, a more regular staccato that seemed to fill the silence.

Mine, mine, mine, it sang as Blaine shimmied closer. _Mine, mine, mine._

He felt hyper-aware of his own existence and how fundamentally important it was that he keep Blaine safe. Blaine had been hurt because of _him, _and even though Kurt knew in some rational corner of his mind that Blaine would never, never blame him for being defenseless in that split-second, he couldn't help but blame himself.

Vying for a more productive use of his time than dwelling on that, Kurt focused on what he needed to do to put his grief, his anger, and his guilt at rest. Spending the afternoon at Blaine's left him with ample time to think about what he had done, and regret was already threatening to crowd out his initial certainty that he had to forgive the Warblers in order to _breathe _again.

He had already texted Trent to tell him that if he wanted to prove where the Warblers' true loyalty lied, then he should meet him at three-thirty on Wednesday in McKinley's auditorium. Any Warblers that wanted to express the same sentiment should also be in attendance. Sebastian could come, too, but he wasn't required. Kurt had already said everything that he had wanted to say to Sebastian; everything else was merely supplementary.

_You have to press charges, _a small voice insisted. He quieted it by running his fingers through Blaine's hair, over and over, a soothing, mindless rhythm that almost put him to sleep, too. But he didn't sleep because he couldn't avoid reality forever, pleasant though dreams could be. Someone had to take charge of the situation, and Blaine wasn't coherent enough to.

_What would you do? _Kurt mused, and it struck him then that maybe he wasn't acting in the way that Blaine would want him to. Blaine had admitted that he still felt guilty about running from his problems back at his old public school. Was Kurt running from his problems? Was he accepting defeat because it was easier and less painful than pressing charges like Santana wanted him to, like the _Glee club _wanted him to?

They hadn't been thrilled when he'd explained his plan. He couldn't say that he blamed them. It _was_ crazy: singing couldn't solve all their problems, contrary to Mr. Schuester's beliefs, yet that was exactly what Kurt had proposed during Glee club rehearsal that morning while Mr. Schuester was away at a board meeting. The Warblers had controlled the _Bad _sing-off, from start to finish. If the New Directions could show the Warblers that they weren't intimidated by what they had done, then maybe they could move past what had happened that night and learn how to stifle their anger instead of feeding it.

They could let it go.

Kurt's left hand clenched into a fist at the thought, his right hand resting against the back of Blaine's neck. As if in response to his stillness, Blaine shuffled closer to him in his sleep, trying unconsciously to protect him. Not wanting to wake him - he couldn't bear to wake him, not when he knew that he had resigned himself to all but _forgiving _the Warblers - Kurt brushed his fingers over his shoulder slowly to placate him and Blaine settled, going limp at his side once more.

He wasn't forgiving the Warblers. He was choosing to ignore what they had done to Blaine and giving the New Directions permission to move forward instead of dwelling on their rage. He was telling everyone to _let it go._

Yet it felt like forgiveness, and forgiveness ignited the rage in him, the restless desire to grab each of them by the shoulders and shake them until they understood that what they had done was _wrong_.

Slushying Blaine was wrong. Tampering with a slushy so that it almost blinded him was even worse. And walking away from Blaine when he was screaming in pain because of what they had done?

That was unforgivable.

But Kurt didn't know what else he could do. The police weren't interested in getting involved without evidence, and the last pieces of evidence from the slushy had been washed down the drain at the hospital. The emergency room staff hadn't known to collect any samples at the time, nor had they been particularly interested in doing so when their primary objective had been to irrigate Blaine's eyes. Kurt hadn't known to test the slushy mix, either, crippled by his worry for Blaine and his horror at the turn of events. Even so, Kurt couldn't blame them for the unwitting mistake, not for one moment, because he would gladly have given up everything rather than leave Blaine in pain for any longer than he had to be.

Which left the only other evidence that they had: the recording.

_"How did you get this?" Kurt asked softly, dazed, amazed, leaning back against the closest desk and staring at Santana._

_"I taped it to my underboob," Santana replied - _

- as if it wasn't the most damning thing that she could have said to him.

The police wouldn't care about illegally confiscated evidence. And from what little Kurt knew of the legal system, he knew that privately recorded conversations against a person's will - without a person's explicit _permission _- were illegal.

The tape was useless.

They had nothing. Eye witnesses, certainly, but Kurt knew how well pressing charges on good faith alone went: the police would see what they wanted to see. None of the New Directions had actually _seen _Sebastian put rock salt into the slushy. Only Sebastian's admission in private verified what they had all known: the slushy had been tampered with. No normal slushy could cause that much damage.

But circumstantial evidence - _no normal slushy could cause that much damage _- could be twisted. Slushies _hurt. _They burned, and it was entirely possible that a normal slushy could cause some damage. Not a scratched cornea, perhaps, but damage.

The police would see what they wanted to see. And if Dalton's headmaster had chosen to ignore the Warblers' actions off school grounds and beyond normal school hours, then Kurt doubted that the police would be any more useful.

It was a dead end.

And Kurt hated it with every fiber of his being.

He wanted Sebastian to stand trial, to suffer the consequences, to finally understand that bullying was _not _okay, in _any _capacity. He wanted Sebastian far, far away from Blaine. He wanted Sebastian expelled, locked up, forced to struggle in a world that didn't cater to his every whim for a change.

_You can't let it go, _the same small voice whispered. _You can't let him get away with this._

He wouldn't. He would never forgive Sebastian because Sebastian had meant to hurt _him, _and instead he had hurt Blaine. He _could_ never forgive him.

But he would have to let him go or risk his sanity in the pursuit of an unlikely outcome.

_This isn't what Blaine would want_.

Kurt closed his eyes because he knew that Blaine wouldn't be happy about it. Kurt was letting the Warblers off the hook; he was letting Blaine's _friends _off the hook.

Former friends.

Kurt didn't know how Blaine felt about them anymore, but Kurt knew that he was dreading being in the same auditorium with them, sickened by the thought of having to look at them and _not _scream.

_Blaine wouldn't let this go, _Kurt knew, stroking over Blaine's shoulder. _Not if he knew._

Another emotion threatened to overwhelm his anxiety, frustration, and anger: fear. How would Blaine react once he learned that the New Directions had opted for the most passive form of vengeance possible?

_We've got your back, dude._

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe evenly because he didn't want to disturb Blaine's sleep, but he could barely contain the surge of guilt that flooded him. Above all, he wanted to do the right thing. He wanted Blaine to feel safe and protected with the New Directions. He didn't want him to feel like the New Directions were powerless to help him, yet that was exactly how Kurt felt.

They were powerless.

They were completely and utterly powerless.

_No._

They couldn't fight Sebastian the way that Kurt wanted to, but they could refuse to be bested by him.

Kurt would get up on that stage and he wouldn't run from them. He wouldn't scream at them, but he wouldn't turn his back on them, either.

He would show them that he wasn't afraid, that he didn't _care, _and maybe then he could begin to move on.

He couldn't forgive. He couldn't forget either. But maybe he could move on. Maybe he could let it go.

Running his fingers gently down Blaine's side, Kurt held him close and willed the world away for a while.

He didn't know when he slipped into sleep, only that it came upon him gently, a merciful relief from his thoughts.

. o .

"Thank you."

Two words, and suddenly Kurt was more tense than he had been for the entire performance. Turning away from Trent, shoulders tense and arms folded across his chest, he said quietly, "This isn't me forgiving you." He was grateful that his voice didn't shake. He wasn't sure how he would have responded if it had.

"Kurt - " Nick began, stepping forward, and Kurt remembered standing outside the Warbler's hall with Jeff and him barely a year ago and he saw _red _because these were supposed to be Blaine's _friends, _his rage and sorrow reaching a new peak.

Swallowing, he struggled to come up with an appropriate response, back turned to both of them. At last, not moving an inch, he deadpanned, "I have absolutely nothing to say to you."

It took a moment, their breaths held, before they melted away into the shadows, leaving Kurt alone.

Kurt waited a moment before letting out his breath heavily, slumping with barely contained relief.

It was over. It was over.

He never needed to see the Warblers again, if he didn't want to; at competitions, perhaps, but not in person, not _personally. _He'd paid his dues.

It was over.

Sensing his change in mood - and it had been easy for Kurt, surprisingly so, to forget his ire and just _sing, _to throw everything that Sebastian had used to hurt him back in his face - Finn approached him cautiously, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Kurt swallowed again and forced himself to nod, ignoring the emotions clumping in his throat. "I'm fine, Finn," he dismissed calmly, sweeping out from under his hand.

Thankfully, Sebastian was already gone, as were most of the New Directions, so he didn't have to face them, too, as he exited the auditorium.

Maybe it was easier to forget their animosity in song, but the real rift between them was still impossible to discuss openly, and most of the Warblers had disappeared as soon as the number was over.

Only a few stragglers had remained. Nick, Trent. A pair of Warblers Kurt didn't recognize, and another, lingering near the shadows, uncertain where his trust could be placed.

Kurt felt sick with the responsibility of it all. He didn't want to have to forgive them. He didn't want to have to act like they hadn't _hurt _him, like he should somehow be responsible for their guilt and lessening it.

They hadn't cared about Blaine's pain. They hadn't tried to lessen it.

Kurt clenched his fingers into fists at his sides and forced himself to keep walking.

When he reached his Navigator in the parking lot, he sank into the driver's seat, locked the doors, and pressed his fists to his eyes.

Sometimes taking the high road was really, really hard.

And sometimes it was almost impossible.

But he had done it - and it struck him with a wonder that resembled agony because he had _done it _- and slowly, he was able to breathe again.

. o .

"You seem thoughtful," Blaine acknowledged, sipping from his medium drip and nudging Kurt's foot with his own as

"Hm?" Kurt glanced up at him, distracted, not missing the way that Blaine smiled as he took another sip from his coffee as if to say, _See? This is what I mean. _

Kurt shrugged apologetically. He hadn't meant to let his thoughts wander, but it had almost become a habit whenever Blaine greeted him with, "We should totally sing a duet about socks."

Thankfully, Kurt's exposure to Brittany for years had accustomed him to bizarre conversational leaps (and equally interesting transitional omissions), which meant that he was ready for such curve balls as a passionate discussion about how Godzilla was the best dinosaur monster ever or how Kurt should totally sing _Grace Kelly _sometime. (Kurt wasn't even opposed to the latter, but the lack of obvious transition made him wonder vaguely if he was being compared to a giant man-eating dinosaur, in which case, he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or an unintended insult.)

Still, Blaine seemed a little more lucid this afternoon, and Kurt almost felt bad for losing track of the conversation. They were seated across from each other on Blaine's bed, Kurt cross-legged and Blaine with one leg angled and the other resting comfortably so that his foot was pressed against Kurt's hip. It was nice to be so close to him, even if the guilt pressing down on Kurt felt even more oppressive when it would have been so easy to tell him the truth.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, worry seeping into his tone and making his smile fade a little as he reached out to rest a hand over Kurt's on the bed. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Even when you're high on medication?" Kurt asked wryly. He was grateful that it sounded light, as though nothing were bothering him, even if the truth couldn't be farther from it. _I didn't fight for you. I didn't make Sebastian answer for his crime. I let it go, Blaine, and I don't think I should have._

But he still couldn't see an alternative, and it was suffocating, trying to keep all of his emotions locked neatly away from Blaine. He didn't want to upset him, but hiding from him felt almost unbearable.

He wanted to tell Blaine what was wrong, but he couldn't, not when Blaine already had enough stress on his plate - Kurt could see the growing pile of papers in the corner that were undoubtedly assignments that he had been working on for school during his more sober moments - without the added complications of trying to forgive Kurt for what _he'd _done while Blaine had been helpless to stop him.

Scrunching up his nose indignantly, nonplussed by Kurt's silence, Blaine tapped his hip with his foot lightly. "I'm not _high. _Tell me what's bothering you," he insisted, shuffling around so he could sit cross-legged across from Kurt.

Kurt sighed, staring at their hands instead of Blaine's face. "I don't want to upset you," he said honestly. Even that little bit of honesty stung.

"You won't." The immediate, utter certainty in Blaine's voice made Kurt's chest tighten because he knew that it wasn't true and betraying Blaine's trust _hurt._ He was supposed to make things better and he hadn't. If anything, he had made them worse. Things _couldn't _get better. Sebastian wouldn't be punished, the Warblers wouldn't change, and everything would stay the same. The New Directions would eventually simmer down and move on (they never championed any particular cause for long since a new disaster was liable to strike at any time), but Kurt wouldn't.

And Blaine wouldn't, either.

Burdening Blaine with that knowledge seemed unnecessarily cruel while he was still recovering from _eye surgery, _and so Kurt shook his head and squeezed Blaine's hand gently instead. "It's nothing," he assured. "I'm just having a bad day."

Blaine frowned, tugging on his hand until Kurt looked up and met his gaze - a one-eyed, earnest stare that almost made Kurt give in. Blaine would understand. He always understood. He wouldn't be mad if Kurt explained it, if he just said the right thing, explained it the right way -

"I wish I could kiss it better," Blaine admitted, pouting.

Kurt was about to sigh and tell him that kisses couldn't solve _everything, _but he checked himself, focusing his attention fully on Blaine for the first time all afternoon. Blaine's shoulders were slumped against the headboard in a way that Kurt knew had nothing to do with fatigue even if his fingers curled laxly in the blanket. He looked - exhausted, somehow, but earnest, so earnest, and Kurt knew then that he _wanted _to be able to help, he wanted to be able to let Kurt vent as he needed to and explain everything and _unwind, _but he was also struggling to keep focused long enough on the conversation to do more than commiserate.

Uncrossing his legs, Kurt shuffled over to him and leaned close enough to kiss, holding back just enough to savor the way Blaine's eye widened with surprise. "Who says you can't?" he asked, leaning in the rest of the way to kiss him.

Blaine relaxed into the kiss and Kurt did the same, eyelids sliding shut as he cupped Blaine's cheek, holding him steady. Warm hands latched onto the back of his shirt and Kurt smiled a little as he pulled back, Blaine making a soft, needy noise against his mouth as he tugged on his shirt.

"No, no, don't go," he begged, sitting up so he could kiss him again, meeting him halfway. Kurt let him, too pleased to resist, and eased him back against the headboard after a moment. On the cusp of a whine, Blaine relaxed when Kurt kissed him again, fingers twisting in his shirt when Kurt trailed kisses along his jaw, savoring him, comforting him and needing comfort from him and taking a warm, easy pleasure from the way Blaine melted underneath him.

"Your kisses taste like coffee," Blaine mused a time later, his good eye was closed, head bobbing in a thoughtful nod as he licked his lips and smiled. "Definitely coffee."

"You're rambling, honey," Kurt reminded. Unworried, Blaine nestled closer to him and Kurt kissed his temple, his own heart rate slow and even.

_Mine, mine, mine, _he thought.

"I miss getting coffee with you," Blaine said, voice slurring around the edges.

"I miss getting coffee with you, too," Kurt admitted, and it felt better, at least, to say that much. "It's lonelier without you."

Blaine yawned. "How embarrassed would you be to be seen with me in public with an eye patch?" he asked thickly, voice heavy with sleep.

"Not at all," Kurt said. It was true. He wanted to get back to their routine, and his snappishness in Glee club hadn't been entirely due to Sebastian and the Warblers. He missed _Blaine. _He missed having a boyfriend that he could hold hands with during Glee club and kiss between classes and sneakily hug back stage while they waited for Rachel to wrap up one of her showstoppers. He missed having someone to sit with at lunch, to sing with during Glee club rehearsal, to help him organize college applications after school.

He missed _Blaine._

But, in another week or so, Blaine could experiment without the eye patch on. And soon he would be back in classes and catching up on all his schoolwork and available for all of their normal routines.

_Soon._

Blaine hummed, and it surprised Kurt that he was still awake, his breathing already even and soft. "I promise to take you out to coffee as much as you want," he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making Kurt smile.

"I still have your promise ring, you know," Kurt reminded him softly, and he could feel Blaine's smile against his side. "I'll hold you to it."

"Good," was all Blaine said, drifting back to sleep.

Kurt didn't move at first, intertwining his fingers with Blaine's and rubbing his thumb slowly over his knuckles, back and forth, wondering what it would be like if Blaine had a ring, too, someday.

He smiled at the thought, and when he got home that night the first thing he did was dig out the promise ring that Blaine had given him.

Maybe Blaine wouldn't be happy when Kurt told him, but he wouldn't hate him, either.

_I had to, _he thought, and it became a mantra, because it was all he had.

_I had to, I had to, I had to - _

. o .

"Kurt. Kurt. _Kurt._"

Kurt snapped out of his daze at Rachel's words, frowning when she rolled her eyes at him from farther down the counter. "What?" he asked, dumping a packet of sugar into his coffee and tearing open a second. An insistent Rachel Berry was the last person that he was prepared to deal with early on a Thursday morning, and despite his good mood after seeing Blaine, he'd still fallen into a restless sleep and gotten far few hours than he'd wanted. Coffee was his one and only godsend that morning, it seemed; at least it didn't judge or nag him.

"Rachel, not now," he said, reaching for a third packet of sugar before she stopped him. Which, admittedly, was probably a good idea.

He didn't even know _why _she had accompanied him for coffee, except -

"What's this?" he asked, frowning when she passed a small paper bag across the table to him.

"It's for you," she explained, failing to hide a smile as she added, "from your _secret admirer._"

Kurt eyed her as he unrolled the bag and plucked a handwritten note from the top.

All it said was: _What's mine is yours. :)_

Underneath it was a single heart-shaped cookie.

At first Kurt didn't know what to make of it before the gears in his brain slowly started turning again and he recalled the heart-shaped cookie that he had given Blaine barely a week ago.

Which meant that Valentine's day was less than a week away.

He couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips as he re-read the note and glanced back at the cookie.

"Thank you," he told Rachel, and he meant it as he looked across the table at Rachel who beamed back at him, her job done. "This is - " _So sweet, incredibly thoughtful, just what I needed _- "perfect," he settled on.

"It was his idea," Rachel confided, and Kurt couldn't stop smiling as he pulled the cookie out of the bag.

_What's mine is yours._

"Thank you," he repeated, and Rachel leaned over to pat his arm before standing up.

"I have to meet Finn," she said apologetically, but Kurt merely waved a hand in acquiescence. He didn't mind it when she left, leaving him and his heart-shaped cookie alone.

Scooping it into his bag, he lingered for a moment, torn between staying and possibly getting some work done and visiting his so-called _secret admirer._

In the end, the choice was easy.

. o .

"Skipping class again?" Blaine teased as soon as he saw Kurt enter. Blaine had migrated to the couch downstairs for a change of scenery; since he could stand to be off the painkillers for a few hours, he wasn't as drowsy, and he perked up when Kurt looked over at him, smiling.

Kurt looked better; less anxious, maybe. That was good. He seemed surprised to find Blaine, but his expression remained neutral as he approached.

"Mr. Schue's out of town at a meeting for the weekend; Glee club practice was cancelled," Kurt dismissed, setting his bag beside the couch and looking at Blaine sternly. "You lied to me," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, immediately running through the most recent things that he'd said to Kurt that could be misconstrued as lies.

At last, he said tentatively, "I'm sorry?"

"You told me you were terrible at romance," Kurt reminded.

Blaine blinked stupidly at him for a moment, about to ask him what he meant by that before Kurt held up a note and it clicked. Smiling shyly, he looked down at his own feet, twisting them a little as he said, "_Terrible_ is a strong word."

Kurt hummed, sitting down on his legs and leaning over to give him a kiss. "How are you feeling?" he asked, reaching up to brush his thumb over his cheek. "You look better."

"I feel better," Blaine said, grinning at him. "So you . . . liked it?" he asked, reaching over to run his fingers up and down Kurt's sides lightly.

Kurt hummed, deliberately drawing it out until Blaine said, "_Kurt._"

"I loved it," Kurt assured, climbing off his legs and smiling at him. "That was very thoughtful of you. How'd you get Rachel to play along?"

Blaine shrugged. "She was surprisingly easy to persuade," he said. Then, tilting his head to look at Kurt, he added, "You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

"Of course not," Kurt said, leveling him a look that clearly said, _You're crazy if you think I thought you would remember._

Blaine pouted.

"I wouldn't forget _Valentine's Day,_" he insisted.

"Uh huuuh."

"Sugar texted me," Blaine added before Kurt could argue further. One of Kurt's eyebrows arched as he sat back down, occupying the space beside Blaine and looking at him inquisitively. "She invited me to her Valentine's day party."

"Hopefully not as her date," Kurt said, and Blaine could hear the slightly higher pitch of his voice that expressed how affronted he would be if Blaine had even thought about it.

"I told her that I'd think about it," Blaine explained quickly, eliciting a thoughtful _hm _from Kurt. "Did she send you an invite?"

Kurt nodded, waving a hand. "I don't know if I'll go, though," he admitted. "I don't want to be the only single there on Valentine's day."

Blaine hummed, understanding that. Then, connecting the dots, he added, "Is that why you've been so worried this week?"

"Worried about what?" Kurt asked, frowning.

"You've just been . . . " Blaine struggled to put it into words. "Different," he settled on. "Quiet. Ever since the surgery."

Kurt stayed silent for a moment, and Blaine recognized the shift in his expression that meant that he was bracing for a lengthy, perhaps even witty explanation as to why he had been moodier lately. But, softly, he interrupted, "Please don't lie to me."

Kurt deflated.

"Hey," Blaine said, shuffling over so he could sit next to him instead of adjacently. "It's okay. Whatever it is, I won't be mad."

Kurt bit his lip before letting out a slow sigh and saying, "It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time," Blaine reminded him.

"Sebastian . . . put rock salt in the slushy," Kurt began, very slowly, and Blaine blinked once, reaching up to rub at his eye patch a little before dropping his hand.

He reached up again, then, and his fingers were shaking, and Kurt's arms were around him without hesitation, a soft _shh, shh, _somewhere between them.

"Oh," he said. He could almost feel his eye burning with the phantom pain, except that was _real _and he just didn't notice it because he took the medications, he did, but all they did was suppress it. "I'm - sorry, I - "

"It's okay," Kurt assured, rubbing his back slowly. "It's okay. I'd freak out, too. I mean, I _did _freak out. I'm pretty sure Santana was the only thing keeping me from dragging Sebastian's sorry ass to a tattoo parlor for a tramp stamp."

A startled laugh escaped Blaine at the thought, even though it was a little muffled by Kurt's shoulder. "What?"

"It's kind of a long story," Kurt said again, apologetically, before delving into it.

Blaine listened, unable to keep from wincing when Kurt explained that he'd given Sebastian back the tape. He swallowed back his initial, _Kurt, _because it wasn't Kurt's fault, it wasn't Kurt's fault. Kurt hadn't thrown the slushy at him. Kurt hadn't orchestrated that night. Kurt hadn't chosen Santana's means for collecting evidence, if it could even be called that when Kurt himself hadn't known what Santana was planning.

It wasn't Kurt's fault. It was different.

_I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but there's nothing we can do._

_There were no eye witnesses. Your own account indicates that you don't know who it was that attacked you._

_We can't expel them without conclusive evidence._

Blaine felt sick. God, he felt sick, but Kurt's arms were still around him, and he wasn't speaking any more, which was good, because Blaine needed a moment to process what he'd even _said _after _I gave him back the tape._

At last, slowly, he nodded, not lifting his head from Kurt's shoulder. "I believe you," he said, and it hurt, but Kurt was there and he could _feel _the tension easing out of Kurt's shoulders as he said it, which made him feel better. Kurt needed to say it, and he needed to hear it, even if it hurt. "I - I don't understand it all yet," he admitted, an understatement, and a rather drastic one, because the Warblers were his _friends _and maybe Kurt had just been too panicked to notice them trying to help out or yelling at Sebastian. Maybe Kurt hadn't noticed. That was possible, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," Kurt said softly.

Blaine squeezed his good eye shut and shook his head. "It's okay," he insisted. "It's okay."

Kurt held onto him long after the initial wave of surprise and fear and _horror _had passed, rocking them gently, patient and soothing. He held onto him long after Blaine knew his classes had started back at McKinley, his breath soft and even overhead.

He held onto him until at last Blaine was able to lift his head and say, "You were worth it."

Kurt's mouth twisted into a frown, but Blaine insisted, "You were worth it, Kurt. You _are _worth it." Pulling away so he could look at him properly, he said simply, "You're okay. That's all that matters to me."

And it was. Blaine was surprised at just how little Sebastian, the Warblers - any of it mattered by comparison. Kurt was okay. He'd kept Kurt from harm, and that was good enough for him.

"I wish you were," Kurt said softly, reaching up to brush his cheek underneath his eye patch.

Blaine tilted his head to kiss his fingertips, murmuring, "I would feel much better if you agreed to stay with me and cuddle."

Kurt smiled a little at that, his relief palpable. "I can do that," he agreed softly, and it was the simplest thing in the world, then, to settle into Kurt's arms, knowing that whatever happened, he would be safe.

They both would.

_Sebastian doesn't mean anything to me._

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, then, and held him back just as tightly.

"I love you," he said simply.

"I love you, too," Kurt replied, kissing the top of his head.

_It's okay,_ Blaine thought, both eyes closed. _It's okay. It's - _

. o .

_This is a disaster._

Kurt had been hopeful about going to Sugar's party - mostly because his _secret admirer _had been sending him cute things all week - only to find out that his supposed cutie was not _his cutie _at all.

He felt bad for hurting David's feeling, but he also felt off-kilter, as though he couldn't tell where he was going or what he was supposed to do next. Blaine wasn't at Sugar's party, and Kurt had lived to see his nightmare come true: yet again, he was single on Valentine's day.

Well. Not really, but it was still difficult to watch Santana and Brittany cozying up to each other, Finn and Rachel doing the same in another corner, knowing that Blaine was probably alone at home asleep.

He pulled his phone out to text him, hesitating before deleting the message without sending it. He _wanted _to see Blaine, but he also knew that Blaine needed to take care of himself. Blaine had stopped wearing the eye patch two days ago, and while his eye had still looked red and painful the first day, he'd already looked more like himself by the end of the second. Still, it was hopelessly optimistic to think that Blaine would actually be at Sugar's party - he'd already apologetically told Kurt that he wasn't sure about it, and Kurt had assumed that that was that until his secret admirer asked to meet him at the party.

Pocketing his phone again and shifting so he could slide out of the chair to leave, he was about to get up when Sugar took the mic. Waiting until she made her announcement - the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself - he frowned at the words, "Cute and compact as ever!"

Last he knew, Sugar was dating Artie, who was hardly _cute and compact, _and it was in that moment that Kurt looked at the far end of the room and saw a very familiar silhouette emerge from the shadows -

. o .

- and Blaine was absolutely positive that it was Kurt's smile and Kurt's smile alone that lit up the entire room.

"Happy Valentine's day, everyone," he greeted, addressing every word to Kurt as he tore off the heart-shaped eye patch. "This one's to all the _lovers_ in the room."

. o .

There would always be bullies in the world, and there would always be _Sebastians, _but that night was all theirs, and Blaine never once let Kurt out of his sight.

"I don't know how I feel about them," Blaine admitted as they sat beside each other in one of the booths, when Kurt asked him how he was handling it all a time later. He had been quiet, and Kurt knew that it wasn't all completely resolved. Blaine still seemed uncertain about letting the charges drop, and even less sure how to react to his friends' betrayal, but he had trusted Kurt, and that made a difference in his overall outlook. "But," he added, leaning forward so he could whisper it in Kurt's ear, "I know exactly how I feel about _you._"

Kurt grinned and let his arms loop around Blaine's neck as he leaned in for a kiss, because kisses couldn't solve every problem, but sometimes, they didn't need to.


End file.
